Chance Meeting
by Tycho
Summary: Post Gift story. Angel has a chance encounter.


Chance Meeting  
by Tycho  
Summary: Post Gift story. Angel has a chance encounter.  
Rating PG-13 for language  
  
* * * *  
  
"So nice to see you again, Angel." Lilah murmured, barely audible above the din being made by the crowd slowly vacating the courtroom.  
  
"And you Lilah. I'd say I was sorry you lost the trial, but that wouldn't be truthful would it. Another bodyguard? You aren't still afraid of li'l ol' me are you?" Angel was grinning. It was always fun to play with Lilah's insecurities, even if Wolfram & Hart were no longer his goal in unlife.  
  
"Not at all. You don't hurt anyone these days. You're all reforemed again. How boring for you. Actually, this is Lindsey's successor. I'd appreciate it if you'd be gentle with him for a little while at least. He's new to the department."  
  
The man stuck out his hand, imitation rolex emerging from beneath the expensive suit. "The infamous Angel. I've heard things about you, but I've yet to read your file. My name is Hank. Hank..."  
  
"Summers." Angel now remembered when he'd seen the bastard before. A little over five years ago, just after Buffy had been Chosen. And now he was standing in front of him, a W&H exec, babbling something about being famous already.  
  
"The name Summers is more famous than you realise. In fact, a client of mine asked me to track you down, but as it was a low priority case I hadn't much worried about it. Perhaps if you could swing by my office later today we could discuss it." Angel caught the worried glance between the two lawyers. "I promise it has nothing to do with your company."  
  
And with that Angel left the room, coat flowing behind him.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Impressive place." Hank stared about the room in wonder.  
  
"Just something I like to call home." Angel didn't point out that he'd added a few pieces of tribal art to the walls just to try and jog his guest's memory. Apparently the ploy worked:   
"You know if you're after more of those tribal pieces, my ex-wife runs a gallery. Just say the word."   
  
Angel bit of the retort that came so readily to his lips. "My associates are out at the moment, fighting evil and all that."  
  
"Of course. You said that you'd been looking for me, for a client of yours?" Hank sat in the chair that Cordy usually reserved for their rare paying clients.  
  
Angel smiled grimly. "Have you ever heard of the Slayer?"  
  
"As I understand it, humans are like sheep, demons are the wolves and she's the shepherd. Higher mortality rate though."  
  
*Arrogant Bastard.*"Yes, that they do. As a matter of fact we just lost one a few weeks ago. Wonderful girl. One of the best ever chosen. Started her career nearly six years ago, and that's a long time for any Slayer, let alone one on the mouth of Hell."  
  
"New York?" the other man quipped.  
  
"Actually she was chosen right here in LA. Soon after her parents divorced, she and her mother and sister moved to a sunny little town downstate. She was dead within the year."  
  
"Now you've got me confused. I thought you said you lost her just a few weeks ago?"  
  
"She'd drowned. Luckily one of her friends was there to revive her. She was fortunate that way. Not many Slayers have much in the way of companionship apart from their Watcher."  
  
"Is that even allowed?"  
  
"One of the many rules she changed. Friends and family knowing and assisting, unconventional methods. Hell, she even fired the council for a time."  
  
"She certainly sounds like a tough broad."  
  
"Indeed. But I think the death of her mother a couple of months ago hit her harder than she was prepared to admit. Suddenly she was left in the sole custody of her 14 year old sister. Can you believe their father didn't even show for the funeral?"  
  
Hank's voice held little sympathy. "Bastard."  
  
"Couldn't agree more. Anyway it finally took a God to kill her. We buried her ten days ago, at the tender age of twenty. Again the father was a no-show. At the funeral, her Watcher asked me to do something for him, as a personal favour to repay an old debt. If I ever ran into the Slayer's father, I'm to make certain he understands in no uncertain terms that he is never to attempt to gain custody of his surviving daughter. She doesn't want to see him ever again. That's where you come in."  
  
"I know the asshole, do I?"  
  
Angel stood and opened a nearby bureau drawer, pulling out a framed photograph of three women. He tenderly traced the faces of those women, as if they were the most valuable in the world. He gently sat the photo down on the coffee table, and spoke in a voice that would scare death itself.  
  
"Every time you look in the mirror."  
  
Fin. 


End file.
